the slope of the mountain, about a league and a-half from the Boorj-i-Kemri. One of these topes is in ruins to its base, either through time, accident, or design. M. Honigberger directed his researches to the largest and most perfect of these three topes, which, like the others, is erected upon an artificial mound, supported on subterranean buildings. It is about thirty feet high, and as much in diameter; its shape much like those already described, but the base is proportionally higher and still more irregular. The summit is in a very ruinous condition, and the autumnal rains are hastening its destruction every year. The dome is built, externally, like that of Kemri, of alternate black and white stones; the cincture is formed by rows of columns, like that which ornaments the Kemri monument, with this difference, that in each intercolumniation is only a single slab of black stone, and that the pilasters support, instead of palm leaves, light columns of an elegant form, surrounded by a ring in their upper part. At the height of the cincture, is an opening, the form of which (though it has become blended with the ruin of a part of the dome) would shew that it is a niche, if the popular tradition of the country did not dispel every doubt, by informing us that, in this niche, there was formerly a but, or idol. The interior of this tope presented, like the rest, an inner tope, covered with cement, enclosing a cell formed of six regularly hewn stones, of the same dimensions as those of the Boorj-i-Kemri; the only peculiarity being that in one of its sides was the orifice of a narrow conduit, running to the East. The only article found here was a small lamp of serpentine, of pretty workmanship, containing fragments of the whitish and resinous matter already mentioned. The upper orifice of this lamp is surrounded with a border delicately sculptured; its middle is adorned with roses and lions' heads; its anterior part consists of a head of an imaginary animal, in which is pierced a hole to receive the wick.

M. Honigberger had still less success in his explorations of some smaller topes; but he formed greater expectations from one of very large dimensions and of better appearance, near a town named Chehrkar (or Charikar), at the foot of the chain of the Himalaya, eight hours to the north of Kabool. But Mr. Masson, having received the first intelligence of this monument, claimed it as his property, and M. Honigberger, having exerted a similar claim in respect to others, conceded that of Mr. Masson, who was setting about the exploration of this tope when M. Honigberger took his departure from Kabool. It would appear that Mr. Masson had succeeded in making acquisitions in some of the monuments, which the hasty researches of his fellow-explorer had supposed to be barren. Thus a tope opened by M. Honigberger, near Kabool, and abandoned by him, was re-examined by Mr. Masson, who found various articles of great value, including eight beautiful gold coins, seven of which were of king Mokadphises.

"M. Honigberger proposed," adds M. Jacquet, "to offer his collection to the British Museum, as a series of historical monuments relative to a country, whose proximity to the English possessions, whose exhausted condition, after long civil wars, and the favourable disposition of whose inhabitants, promise an easy conquest to the Anglo-Indian government. It is to be regretted that serious difficulties did not permit the realization of this intention, and that this interesting collection should not have been deposited in a museum, where it would have been often visited by the eager curiosity of enlightened visitors."

FLOWERS FOR POETS' GRAVES.

No. III.

HEBER.

THOU art gone unto an early tomb,
O Bard beloved! but ever there,
Peace breathes around ambrosial air,
And Sharon's hallowed roses bloom;
While sweet Religion's radiant plume
Sheddeth its mild and healing light,
Like sunshine dawning out of sight.
Thou art gone unto thy early rest,
With Indian earth upon thy breast;
And many a stranger's spirit wept,
When England's meek Apostle slept.
But thou art happy! on thine eyes
Glitter the rays of Paradise:
A sabbath of eternal calm!
Unknown to thee the setting ray;
So sweet, so fair, so cool a day
Ne'er cheered the fainting pilgrim's way,
Beneath the glimmering leaves of palm.
O Bard beloved! not all the pride*
Of Indian beauty by thy side,

The flowers with gorgeous splendour blushing,
With crimson light the wood-paths flushing,

Thy pining spirit could divide

From thy dear country; like a bride,
She hung upon thy neck, and told

Of cottage homes, and streams of gold,
And ivied churches, castles old;
And then, before thy moistening eye,
The shadows of our English sky
Upon the changing grass swept by,-
And on the distant uplands gray
The plough, slow-moving, and the swain,
Plodding beside his lumbering wain,
Shone faintly, while pale Twilight waves
Her banner o'er the osier graves;
And Wykeham's peal recalls thy feett
Unto the Muses hallowed seat.
Then many an old familiar sound
Awoke upon that eastern ground ;-
The murmuring brook, the humming bee;
The wheel beside the cottage-door ;
The cattle lowing on the lea;

The farm-boy piping o'er and o'er

* See Heber's beautiful lines upon English Scenery, in his Journal.

Alluding to Oxford.

The burden of some village-tune,
Learnt on the sunny grass at noon;
While all the wood was in a blaze
With the sunset's crimson rays.*

Such pleasant thoughts we owe to thee,
Angel of Life! sweet Memory!
Thou, when the sky is overcast,
Can'st gild the present with the past,
And breathe the freshening dew of rest
Upon the mourner's aching breast,
And bring the wanderer from the sea,
Back to his weeping mother's knee:
Or wake a voice beside our bed,
Or fold an arm beneath our head.
Thus, dear Companion, when forlorn,
Our Tree of Hope all rent and torn,
No glimpse of friendly Sun is given,-
Thy beams a cheerful warmth impart,
And open Heaven in each heart.†

But though each star in Fancy's sky
Glittered upon thy thoughtful eye;

Dearer to thee the Brook, that flowed

66

Fast by the Oracles of God,"

Than rills that with Arcadian sunshine glowed,

Or flow'ry fields by Plato trod ;

And lovelier far than richest gem
Brightening the Muse's diadem,

The Star, the Star of Bethlehem !‡

"Thou art gone to the grave, and earth's mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long;

But the mild rays of Paradise beamed on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st was the Seraphim's song."§

MENANDER.

Child of the old poetic race!

Bard with the faculty divine!
Each feature of the Muse's face

Lived in thy ever-changing line:

• One of the most striking images in the Task was suggested by a similar object:—

'Tis morning, and the sun, with ruddy orb,
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
That curved away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
Resemble most some city in a blaze,

Seen through the leafless wood.

+ This line is imitated from one in Waller's "Paraphrase of St. Paul's Exhortation See Kirke White's Poem, "The Star of Bethlehem."

to Charity."

§ See the Bishop's Hymns.

Mr. Fox used to say that, of all the relics of antiquity, a complete Comedy of

Asiat.Jour.N.S.VOL.22.No.85.

Menander

I

And thou could'st hold the mirror up

To Virtue's cloudless eye;
And melt in smiling Sorrow's cup
Far sweeter pearls than lie

Within the ocean's bosom; Peace
Shed softest dew upon thy strain;
And tears flowed to the eyes of Greece,
By mirthful sunshine dried again.

Child of the old poetic race!

Bard with the faculty divine!

When shall the Comic Muse's face
Live in such glowing hues as thine ?

CARLYLE.

Nor will the Muse deny the meed
Of one melodious tear to thee,
Breathing the Songs of Araby
So sweetly through thy reed;
Whether the gentle legend be
Of sweet Maisuna's guileless heart,*
From ali the glittering pomp of art
For ever pining to depart
Unto the Arab tent again;

Or in thy clear and simple strain.
Glisten the timid Weeper's eyes,

Like spring-time violets' azure dyes;

Menander would be to him the greatest treasure.

Undoubtedly, when we remember the enthusiastic terms in which he is mentioned by ancient writers, we cannot but entertain the highest opinion of his genius. Quinctilian, a writer of admirable taste, declared that the splendour of his abilities threw every other poet of his class into the shade. Chrysostom recommended his works to all students of oratory. The most flattering compliment which Cæsar could pay to Terence, was the appellation, " Dimidiatus Menander." The New Comedy was celebrated for the truth and fidelity of its pictures, a quality possessed in rare eminence by Menander, and ingeniously, though affectedly, characterized by Aristophanes, the Grammarian: "O Life and Menander! which of you two has imitated the other?" Of seventy-three comedies from his pen, we have only a few fragments, from which no idea of his talent can be formed. In the preceding lines, I have alluded to his influence as a moral poet, a title his few surviving sentences fully support. But it cannot be denied that these fragments are found in the works of Christian writers, by whom the lighter effusions of his fancy would, upon principle, be overlooked. Pliny called him the Interpreter of every luxury; Pliny styled him the Priest of Love. Phædrus, also, has painted him fond of pleasure, a votary of Epicurus, with a languid and effeminate step, bathed in perfume, and arrayed in flowing garments. These are deductions from the high moral character usually given to him.

Maisuna was a daughter of the tribe of Caleb; a tribe, according to Abulfeda, remarkable for the purity of its dialect and the number of its poets. She was married, whilst very young, to the khalif Moawiyah. But this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of Maisuna, and, amidst all the pomp and splendour of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.-CARLYLE.

That brightest, sweetest, dearest hue,
When Beauty looks through Pity's dew:*
Brighter than richest lustre hid
'Neath the Circassian's painted lid.
And thou, too, glidest meekly by,
Fair Leilah, with thy purple eye,
Thy ripe and sunny cheek,
Breathing a softer melody

Than poet's lip can speak;

With radiant arm of mountain snow,
And locks like midnight in their flow;
And foot that shineth without sound,
Like summer moonlight, on the ground;
Or as upon the garden rill,

When all the sunny air is still,
Floats the shadow of a dove,
Or the resplendent face of Love.
Leilah, of eastern maids most blest,
Most dear unto the poet's breast.†

FLETCHER AND MILTON.

We speak of thee, and hark! a tune,
More soft than amorous bird in June,
Floats upward like an odour-steam,
Or syren voices in a dream ;‡

⚫ See "Verses to a Lady Weeping," by Ebn Alrumi. It was an ancient custom in the East, observes Mr. Beckford, which still continues, to tinge the eyelids of the women, particularly those of a fair complexion, with an impalpable powder, prepared chiefly from pure antimony, and called Surmeh. Ebn'l-Moteyz, in a passage translated by Sir W. Jones, compares it with the violet:

Viola collegit folia sua, similia

Collyrio nigro, quod bibit lacrymas die discessus,
Velut si esset super vasa in quibus fulgent

Primæ ignis flammulæ in sulphuris extremis partibus.

This pigment, as is well known, when applied to the inner surface of the lids, communicates to the eye (especially if seen by the light of lamps) so tender and fascinating a languor as no language can express. Hence the epithet ßapagos, violet-coloured eyelids,' attributed by the Greeks to the Goddess of Beauty.

+ Mejnoun and Leilah, observes Beckford, quoting from D'Herbelot, are esteemed amongst the Arabians, as the most beautiful, chaste, and impassioned of lovers; and their amours have been celebrated with all the charms of verse in every Oriental language. The Mahometans regard them, and the poetical records of their love, in the same light as the Bridegroom and the Spouse, and the Song of Songs, are regarded by the Jews.

It will be seen that I refer to Milton's Mask of Comus, which was undoubtedly enriched, if not originally suggested, by the Faithful Shepherdess of Fletcher, a pastoral comedy of Arcadian sweetness, and from which Milton is supposed to have caught the Dorique delicacy that delighted the ear of Sir Henry Wotton. The attendant spirit is describing the melody of the Lady's voice:

At last, a soft and solemn breathing sound
Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence

Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might

Deny her nature, and be never more,

Still to be so displaced.